


What Came After

by the_wistful_traveler



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mpreg, Reference to character death, Slash, Sort of a fix-it, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:53:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wistful_traveler/pseuds/the_wistful_traveler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the centuries following the reclamation of the Lonely Mountain, the great legends of Erebor would speak of Thorin, King Under the Mountain, and his one love, Bilbo Baggins, a simple hobbit of the Shire who lived a life full of love and happiness. This is how it began, four years after the Desolation of Smaug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wanted to make this a more Dwalin-centric drabble, since I love Dwalin and really wanted to explore his mindset, but Bilbo and Thorin sort of barged in and took over the whole thing. I apologize for that!
> 
> Also, I make reference to mpreg a few times, but I don't go into detail with it mostly because I didn't want to try and figure out the mechanics of biologically impossible childbearing lol. 
> 
> That said, enjoy!

Erebor was a peaceful kingdom, even though only four years had passed since the Desolation of Smaug and the Battle of Five Armies. Thorin had reclaimed his throne and rightful place as King Under the Mountain with very little fanfare; instead, he had approached the throne of his father, grandfather, and ancestors past, and ran a reverent hand over the cool grey stone before turning around and, finally, he was where he was always meant to be. Fili and Kili stood to his left hand as his heirs and to his right, his chosen love and consort, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, a hobbit and a burglar. As those dwarfs that survived the battle kneeled before the royal family, the new leaders of Erebor, Dwalin was content that everything was finally as it was meant to be. 

Although the members of the Company had been absorbed into their new tasks – Fili, Kili, Bilbo and Thorin managing the rebuilding of the city, Bifur and Bofur at the mines, Bombur in the kitchens, Ori at the great library, Nori as chief of Thorin’s intelligence network, Dori and Gloin at the smithies, Oin in the halls of healing, and Dwalin as head of Thorin’s royal guard – they made sure to maintain the bonds of friendship that had been forged through the journey and the battle. 

Meals were one way of doing this, and if Dwalin were being honest, they were the part of his week he looked forward to most. Although he had more contact with the royal family than the others, he would admit privately to himself that he missed the thirteen of them together. As with the meal at Bag-End all those years ago, this lunch was a messy, noisy affair, with food flying through the air and dwarfs pounding on the table and shouting across to each other. In the midst of all the chaos, Dwalin noticed that Bilbo and Thorin were being less attentive to the destruction than normal, sitting even closer (if that were possible) and speaking quietly with mysterious smiles upon their faces. While at any other time he would be deferential to the pair, Dwalin had no compunctions about calling them out in person when they were with close friends. 

“What’s got you two all secretive, eh?” he rumbled loudly. “I would think Bilbo would have been pitching a fit by now at the mess.” The words were meant teasingly, and Bilbo scowled good-naturedly at the large, tattooed warrior before looking up at his wedded husband. 

“Shall we?” Bilbo proposed. Thorin inclined his head, and together they stood. The movement attracted everyone’s attention and slowly the chaos died down as the eleven others directed their attention to their leaders. “We wanted to tell all of you in person before it gets announced to the whole of Erebor,” Bilbo began somewhat ungracefully. He looked to Thorin, who nodded him on with a small smile. Bilbo turned back to the waiting group and placed a hand gently on his midsection. “We should have a new member of the family before the year is out.”

It took a second, but as the meaning of Bilbo’s words and his and Thorin’s smiles sunk in, the room once again erupted, this time in congratulations as the dwarfs swarmed the two. As a beaming Bilbo was being passed around for hugs – careful, careful hugs – Dwalin approached Thorin not as king and subject, but as oldest friends. The two stood next to each other silently for a moment, watching the celebrations, before Dwalin placed a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. 

“Congratulations, my friend,” he said softly. Thorin graced him with a smile, the happiest Dwalin had ever seen from him, and Dwalin was suddenly filled with gratitude toward the little hobbit that had put it there. 

“Thank you,” Thorin said, and suddenly the horde was upon them. As the others congratulated their king, Dwalin moved toward Bilbo. 

“Master Dwalin,” Bilbo greeted the large man softly. The hobbit looked as content as Dwalin had ever seen him. Unexpectedly, Dwalin leaned down slightly and pulled the slight man into an embrace. He didn’t say anything, and Bilbo didn’t ask, but Bilbo’s gaze was warm and knowing as they separated. 

-~-~-~-~-~-

Within the month, the news of the impeding birth of the king’s child was announced to the city, and the celebrations were massive. As the royal consort’s stomach swelled, so did the number of birthing gifts sent from abroad, to the point where a second room was designated for them. 

Thorin had pulled Dwalin from his personal guard, assigning him to Bilbo, and the hobbit endured the overprotectiveness in good humor, apparently mellowed into complacency by his pregnancy. That was not to say it lasted all the time; both men had endured more crying fits, shouting matches, and unusual cravings than they had ever in their lives experienced, but Oin assured them it was a perfectly normal part of childbearing. 

What was not normal, however, was how long Bilbo had been pregnant. He was already several weeks past when the midwives expected the child to be born, and given that the child’s father was a dwarf, larger than anticipated. He was so ungainly, in fact, that he could no longer sit or stand without assistance. 

“We will be fine,” Bilbo said one night, running a comforting hand across Thorin’s arm as the dwarf confessed his deepest fears; that he would lose one or both of them in the birth. Thorin knew beyond a doubt it was not something he would ever be able to return from. In fact, Bilbo seemed the least worried of any inhabitant in Erebor. He would sit for hours at a time in the nursery, hands on the swell of his stomach as he hummed to their child. 

As always, Dwalin was by his side. 

-~-~-~-~-~-

It was not a week later that everything came to head. The two were in the library by a window; Bilbo was reading an old text on plants native to Erebor while Dwalin and Ori sat some feet away, heads bent low together. Bilbo’s near-constant humming stopped so suddenly that Dwalin jerked, looking at Bilbo with alert eyes and tense posture. 

“Is everything alright?” he demanded. Bilbo looked at him with wide eyes. “Bilbo?” he pressed when the hobbit didn’t answer. Ori looked concerned, half-rising from his chair as he prepared to fetch Oin. 

“I think – the baby is ready to meet everyone now,” Bilbo said breathlessly. Dwalin swallowed hard and nodded. He looked at the little scribe, but in place of the nervousness he expected, Ori seemed mostly calm. 

“I’ll help you down to your room,” Dwalin said, moving over to Bilbo. He took the man’s hands, helping him to his feet. “Ori, send word to Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Oin.” He didn’t wait for the other dwarf’s acknowledgement. With one arm securely around Bilbo and the other free to grab his sword, the two walked the halls of Erebor slowly. Dwalin silently cursed that the royal rooms were so far from the library as Bilbo’s fingers, once again, tightened on Dwalin’s bicep in pain. “Nearly there, lad,” Dwalin reassured, although they were nothing of the sort. Bilbo gave a breathy laugh. 

“I think the little one is impatient,” Bilbo said. Dwalin’s eyes took on a cautious, desperate look. 

“I’ll not be delivering any babies, laddie,” he warned, just barely concealing the panicked tone of his voice. 

“Labor is not that fast, Dwalin,” Bilbo reassured, and Dwalin tried to pretend that he had not forgotten that from Fili and Kili’s own births all those years ago. But in his defense, for all he knew, hobbit births were different from dwarf births. Really, it’s not like he had much experience in these matters. “Thank Mahal,” Bilbo breathed out in the next instant as they rounded the familiar corner to where the royal rooms were. Thorin was waiting almost frantically in front of the doors as the two approached, and he hurried up to them, taking Bilbo from Dwalin’s protective grasp into his own. 

“Are you alright? Is the baby alright?” he demanded. 

“Yes, Thorin,” Bilbo answered with a smile. “Is the midwife here?” Thorin nodded as they entered their shared suite. 

“Yes, and Oin, Fili, and Kili,” he responded, even though Bilbo could see the three well enough. He barely managed a reassuring smile to the two Durin heirs before Oin and Thorin were herding him into the room where he was to give birth. The door closed behind them, leaving Kili, Fili, and Dwalin in the main sitting area. 

“Uncle asked us to stand watch,” Fili explained at Dwalin’s questioning eyebrow. 

“Aye,” Dwalin replied, sitting down in an armchair beside the fire. He took out a dagger and his whetstone, testing the edge experimentally with his thumb before beginning to sharpen it. Fili and Kili also took seats, fidgeting a bit with lack of anything to do. “Here, make yourselves useful,” Dwalin grunted, tossing them another whetstone and handing over more of his knives. 

The hours passed with the sound of sharpening and quiet conversation in the room. The whimpers and screams of pain had steadily been increasing from the other room, making the two younger dwarfs, but Kili in particular, look anxiously in its direction. 

“You need to calm down, lad,” Dwalin said as he put away his last knife. “It’ll be fine.” 

“Thorin says you stood guard at our births as well,” Fili said suddenly. Dwalin fixed on him a serious look. 

“I did,” he said. “What of it?” 

“I never quite understood the tradition,” Fili explained, looking for an explanation to his statement. Dwalin noticed that Kili was suddenly less fixated on Bilbo’s cries of pain and was waiting for Dwalin’s answer, which the warrior supposed was Fili’s intent in the first place. 

“The king would ask his most trusted warriors to attend the birth of his child, or his sister-sons, to protect the lives of mother and child. It was a sign of trust by one’s king and faith in your abilities – not just that you could defend the family, but that you _would_ defend the family.” Dwalin leveled upon the two a hard and unsmiling look. The fire was dying low behind him. “It is an honor to be asked,” he said firmly. The two swallowed hard, suddenly understanding with perfect clarity. 

“You were there, when we were born?” Kili asked strangely as Fili stood to get more wood for the fire. 

“Aye, and Balin too,” Dwalin responded. “It is the duty of a warrior and the right of a friend.” Unexpectedly, the screams in the other room stopped, the silence ringing. All three looked carefully at the other room, waiting with bated breath. After a long moment, the door creaked open, and Thorin stepped out. Dwalin, Fili, and Kili stood carefully. Thorin looked at them – and smiled. It was weary, but indescribably happy. From the room, a baby’s wail burst forth, along with the sounds of Bilbo softly cooing. 

“He has given me a daughter,” Thorin murmured reverently. Fili and Kili’s sighs of relief were audible.

“What did you name her?” Fili asked. 

“She is called Frida, meaning ‘peace’ in the old tongue*.”

“May it be a sign of her future and the future of Erebor,” Dwalin rumbled. Thorin looked at him gratefully. The group filed back into the bedroom, ignoring Oin and the midwives, who were carefully folding bloodied blankets and towels. Instead, they focused on Bilbo in the bed and the small bundle he held to himself. He looked up at the group with tired but happy eyes. Fili and Kili approached first, looking down at their cousin. She had Thorin’s dark coloring, but her hair was as curly as Bilbo’s, and her large eyes were a deep blue color. 

“Hail, cousin,” Fili greeted gravely, reaching out to very gently brush back a lock of hair. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead. Kili repeated the action, and then, impulsively, kissed Bilbo’s cheek as well. 

-~-~-~-~-~-

Frida’s first introduction with the Company had gone even better than Bilbo and Thorin had hoped. She was passed from dwarf to dwarf under the watchful gazes of her parents, cousins, and Dwalin, but she only stared at each with her too-wide gaze, sometimes grabbing onto and chewing fistfuls of beard. She had taken a particular fondness to Balin’s, and it was there she stayed for her afternoon nap, cradled carefully in the elder’s arms just as he had once upon a time held Dwalin. 

That night, after her formal introduction to the dwarfs of Erebor, Thorin and Bilbo stood over her bassinet, watching each rise and fall of her tiny chest as she slept. 

“She will be so very loved,” Thorin promised, wrapping an arm around his husband. 

“And happy,” Bilbo agreed softly. The two smiled at each other before Bilbo reached over and interlaced Thorin’s fingers and his. “Come to bed,” he said, and together, they did.

-~-~-~-~-~-

“Uncle,” Frida whispered as her small hand tugged insistently at Dwalin’s shirt. When she didn’t get the reaction she was looking for, she tugged again, harder, whispering louder, “Uncle!” Dwalin stirred, turning onto his side to face the small dwarfling. Frida was only eight, still barely more than a babe in dwarf terms, but her half-hobbit heritage caused her to mature at a slightly faster rate than her peers. Her hair was still as black and curly as the day she was born, wisping around her face from where it had escaped her braid, and she was wearing a dark green nightgown. Dwalin and Ori had decided that Bilbo and Thorin needed a night or two to themselves and offered to watch Frida for the weekend, an offer they had quickly accepted.

“Frida? What is it?” he asked, pitching his voice low so as to not wake Ori beside him. The little girl pouted, holding her arms up. 

“Can’t sleep,” she said grumpily. Dwalin let out an indulgent chuckle and leaned over, picking her up easily and settling her between him and Ori. At that, the scribe stirred awake, opening his eyes. 

“Is everything alright?” Ori muttered sleepily. 

“Yes,” Dwalin answered, and with that reassurance, Ori fell back asleep, trusting his husband to keep them safe. Frida curled up against his side trustingly, pillowing her cheek against his forearm. 

“Uncle?” she said again after several moments.

“Yes, Frida?” 

“Momma’s been crying a lot,” she said worriedly. “And getting sick. And eating really strange things. And papa says it’s okay, and that it’s supposed to happen, whatever that means.” Her tone was concerned yet matter-of-fact and her big eyes looked at her uncle for an explanation. 

“That little burglar,” Dwalin muttered to himself fondly, a smile growing under his beard. Leaning over, he dropped a kiss on Frida’s head. “Your papa’s right,” he reassured. “Your momma’s fine – more than fine. Go to sleep now, princess.” He began to run his fingers carefully through her hair, and within moments the familiar movement had her breathing evening out and eyelids dropping shut as she was masterfully lulled back into sleep. 

Dwalin huffed a quiet laugh to himself and carefully settled back down. Within moments he too was asleep, Erebor’s princess safely in his arms.


	2. Epilogue

Erebor was a peaceful kingdom, twelve years after the Desolation of Smaug. Already, Thorin’s rule was being hailed as one of the strongest and most peaceful in Erebor’s history, or indeed of any of the seven dwarfish kingdoms. Were anyone to ask, Thorin would attribute it to Bilbo’s presence at his side. Dwalin, shadowing the very pregnant royal hobbit once more, agreed. 

Erebor was a peaceful kingdom, thirteen years after the Desolation of Smaug. Bilbo had given birth again – this time to twins, a rare event hailed throughout the kingdoms as a symbol of the prosperity that Erebor now enjoyed. The first was a little boy, named Frerin after the king’s long since passed brother, and the second a little girl, named Belladonna after Bilbo’s own late mother. The birth was a difficult one, and once Bilbo was released from bed rest, the midwives advised the pair that Bilbo was not to get pregnant again. He would very likely not survive. 

Erebor was a peaceful kingdom, twenty years after the Desolation of Smaug. Although Thorin seemed mostly unravaged by the passage of time and the stress of leadership, the same could not be said for Bilbo. Already his face was even more lined, and white had started to creep into his otherwise blond hair. Thorin was reminded painfully that hobbits did not enjoy the same lifespan as dwarfs. 

Erebor was a peaceful kingdom, thirty-five years after the Desolation of Smaug. The royal consort was ill. The Company knew it, as likely did the rest of the kingdom, but they were careful to act as if nothing were wrong. They would not dishonor Bilbo by acting maudlin around him. 

Erebor was a peaceful kingdom, fifty-four years after the Desolation of Smaug. Frida of Erebor was marrying a merchant from the Iron Hills. He was not poor but not wealthy, but he was hardworking and looked at Frida as if she hung the moon and the stars and were single-handedly responsible for every gem under Erebor, and that was enough for Thorin. Frida, resplendent in a shimmering gown of diamond-beaded white silk, carefully embraced her father. Thorin’s hair had grown almost completely grey by now, and he was clad in a tunic of deep black. 

The throne beside him was empty.

**Author's Note:**

> *Frida - meaning "peace" in Ancient Germanic or Scandinavian
> 
> Next chapter will be a short epilogue


End file.
